Beauty
by Moiranne Rose
Summary: EDITED: Turks takes time of their work to look out of the window and think. About all the beauty that is and was in their lives ...Rated for the bit of violence and angst, and some happy enough endings.


Hi,

Well, this is just a Turk centric fic talking about different forms of beauty in their lives. It may turn a little angsty at the end, but I don't think it's enough to raise the meter above the K+ mark. I wrote this while looking out of my own house's window, at the birds fighting in the tree next to my window. They always do that for some reason, but none of them gets hurt at any point in time. Probably just their idea of fun :).

And the decision to change this to a chaptered fic was made when I was staring out of the window on one particularly silent and boring car drive. (haven't we all experienced this?)

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Final Fantasy 7 and all the characters pertaining to it are copyright Square Enix's. The forms beauty takes in the story belong to Mother Nature. I own nothing, not even the computer I'm writing this on (it's my sister's)._

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Beauty was something most people said couldn't be expressed in words. But there were plentiful examples of it. Reno knew most of them, having enjoyed them before.

The look of a tree blooming starbursts of red and pink. That was beauty. It reminded him of his mother. The way she looked when she was going out to have a fancy night out with her friends. When she did up her hair in that stylish bun with a single mother-of-pearl pin through it, when she wore that pretty jungle green dress that went beautifully with the fiery hair she had passed on to her only child, when she wore those dangly earrings that caught the light at every angle, when she draped her arm over his father's, just before they got in the car to drive to wherever the party was held. At that perfect moment where she'd turn to her son, just passed his fifteenth year, still blowing him a kiss like he was still a child, that snapshot was just like that tree blossoming sakura flowers that stood on the road leading to ShinRa.

The look of a blue jay that swooped over the horizon. That was beauty. It didn't matter that it was a common bird; so many could be found near the building in such stifling numbers. As they passed through the welcoming archway under the towering building, in the everlasting night of Midgar, headed for some unknown, top secret location, he looked longingly at the birds that cocked their heads at him questioningly. It didn't matter that that particular bird had a dented beak, or if it was missing a feather from the crowning blue ones that grew from his forehead. He could literally sense the freedom that followed its flight, the carefree swooping and the graceful gliding, even that cheeky loop-the-loop that it made as it swerved pass his window. He could almost see his little sister in his mind's eye. The way she'd thread the fields outside their family's home, her favorite blue dress picked up by the wind to swirl around her as she ran through the green grass that covered the plain. He used to look out of his study window, hardly caring about the homework laid out in front of him, just to see her tiny figure skip accompanied by her easy child laughter. That moment that she'd look back to the house, wink, and wave at him before running off again was just like that blue jay that swooped past the window, almost winking at him.

The mountain that loomed in the distance, the one he could see just above the adjacent building, as the office car they were maneuvering (an unknown driver was driving) comfortably drove towards their destination. That was beauty. It was endless slopes of green dotted with oak trees that wove in and out of each other's branches. He didn't mind that it was so far away, or that the building that was forever blocking his view covered most of the whole mountain. He didn't mind that during winter it was covered with a neat blanket of snow, disrupted by breathy laughter and sled tracks that swerved round trees as tiny figures whooped with glee. He could see his father in that. The way he looked, solid, firm, strong. His ideals, his beliefs, his ambitions were as steadfast as the mountain was. He held fast to his morals, not letting anything of anyone sway him from them. Sometimes, Reno had believed his father to be bordering on stubborn. But he also knew that his father was a force to be reckoned with, the way he'd sit at the head of the table, with that slight smile he always had on his face, that passionate look that his eyes took on when Reno engaged him in heated discussions about politics or civil rights or philosophical ideas. Or when he heard a good joke (they were so hard to come by with Reno, but ever so often, he would tell one that wasn't in dubious taste), the way he boomed with hearty laughter, eyes dancing in glee, that was the snapshot Reno had of him, his final lasting impression on his then fifteen year old heart.

Yet these similarities made Reno's heart ache just a bit more. He knew that once something was beautiful, was perfection in his eyes, the only way they could go from there was regression. He had seen the way that rag-tag gangs of boys rammed their fists into the sakura tree, betting on the amount of pink and red blossoms that fell with each blow that weakened the bark. He had seen the greedy pleasure hunters took, boasting of the tiny blue jays strung up on a string, painfully lifeless as the hunters bragged and showed off the amount of small targets their pistols had hit. He had seen the loggers in their peak season, sweltering hot May, cotton T-shirts stuck to their bent backs, heaving the last oak log onto a lorry which would bring them to the factory that would turn all those mighty trunks into tables and chairs and cabinets and shelves for the next rich person redecorating his house. He knew how beauty could be taken away, replaced with that empty void of silence.

He knew how it felt, to be tied up and helplessly watching cold-hearted thugs shoot his father as he futilely tried to protect his wife. He knew how it felt to see your mother's hands grow cold in death, opening as her muscles weakened, life seeping out of the head wound, the same hands that had once smacked him for being naughty and the same pair that had been used to sooth his fevers and flus. He knew how it felt to see your baby sister fall into Death's hands, still holding that doll she had had for all her short years, eyes widening into that final expression of shock. He knew how it felt to see your family, the same one that had always laughed together with you, cried together with you, lie in a bloody heap in your living room, yourself being lifted bodily into a dank boot of some van, while through the window, you could see the fire the thugs had set on your home, to burn away all traces. He knew how it felt, that sinking within your stomach and the ghastly nausea overtaking your body, to know that it was all because of you.

He leaned his head wearily on the window pane, sighing slightly, before leaning over the fine print that briefed him on the next mission, knowing full well that it would give him a headache, and letting words like "Nibelheim" and "runaways" take the place of "family" and "safe". Stealing a final glance out of the window, he realized that he could summarize beauty in two words.

Not his.

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A/N: Hopefully this turned out okay. I was so scared that this would get flamed or something, but I try to take these things in my stride, and try to improve on my work. I don't mind flames, but put in some good reasoning behind them too! Thanks a lot for taking time to read this, and if you want to give constructive criticism, feel free to click that purple-blue button at the bottom of the page :)

I will expand this one into a chaptered one, for each of them, ending in a final epilogue where they make some philosophical conclusions that mirror the ones I'm making too. Yup, so stick around :).

Moiranne Rose


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